


Nothing and Everything

by ChopinWorshipper



Category: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, Emotional Abuse, F/M, Internalized Acephobia, M/M, Multi, Toxic Relationship, lanyon needs a hug, no one dies, this is still super tragic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 19:30:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20953724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChopinWorshipper/pseuds/ChopinWorshipper
Summary: Dr. Hastie Lanyon didn't know why he felt no desire.





	Nothing and Everything

Dr. Hastie Lanyon didn't know why he felt no desire.

He didn't know why carnal acts held no appeal for him.

But he hated it.

Always had.

He hated how his parents had pressured him into visiting a brothel at the age of fifteen, because they wanted their son to “become a man”. Some fine birthday present that was.

He was just _fifteen_!

“Was I not satisfactory?”, the assigned lady asked fearfully, after seducing him and seeing his blank expression.

He still didn't see the appeal.

There was nothing enjoyable about this.

Sure, the physical stimulation had been there, she had known what she was doing.

But deep down, he felt empty.

He hadn't been in the mood for this and was quite convinced, that he never would be.

The only thing he felt was disgust at being touched like that, especially by a stranger.

But still he had told her not to worry and apologised for being such a disappointment.

The woman, probably assuming that he just hadn't been ready (he was only fifteen, after all), told him that it was fine. “I've had worse clients”, she added. “You were okay for someone who didn't want this.”

He really wanted to run away.

But that was no option, because his father was waiting downstairs and if he came back now, that old bastard would assume that his son was still a virgin – and abuse him some more.

Then he spied a newspaper and had an idea.

“Can you read?”

“No, the client before you forgot it here.”

So he read to her for a bit.

When he came downstairs, his father immediately asked him the question.

“Yes”, he said and wanted to puke.

Oh, there were so many reasons to hate his parents and hate them he did.

When he finally was back at boarding school, he immediately ran to his room, curled up under his covers and cried.

His two friends and room-mates did their best to comfort him, but he didn't tell them what had happened. In Henry Jekyll's arms, he finally calmed down and his overwhelming disgust faded.

_Perhaps one day. Maybe, if I find someone to love … _

When he was 23 years old, Lanyon realised that he was in love with his best friend.

He tried to tell himself that it wasn't true, because it was just so disgusting. There was no way he could be feeling this way. Loving another man was wrong in so many ways, even if you didn't want to sleep with him. And his best friend too!

But it was just impossible not to love him.

No one could make him feel like he was worth something like Jekyll could. The only other person who came close to that was Gabriel John Utterson, the third in the group. But the black-haired man had no interest in common with his other friends (except for law).

Jekyll had grown into a stunningly handsome man with a radiant personality.

A true work of art. One that Lanyon had brought onto paper secretly several times.

Practically godlike in comparison to his own chubby and relatively short frame, long auburn hair and – worst of all – his _freaky_ mismatched eyes.

He wasn't handsome or charming in any way.

But when he stated that, Jekyll would pinch him and tell him it wasn't true.

“Stop it! You're my best friend and I will have none of this self-deprecation! I will pinch you every time I hear you talk yourself down!”, the blond 22-year-old threatened.

Lanyon believed him.

He ignored how heavy his heart became at the words “best friend”.

So what, if Jekyll didn't love him.

He liked him for what he was and that was enough.

Perhaps it was even better this way.

Jekyll was practically addicted to the joys of the flesh.

While he himself … well … he still felt nothing.

And it made him unhappy.

He desperately hoped that the blond would never find out.

_Please, God! Show mercy and let him never know!_

He was 26 years old, when he learned that his feelings were requited.

Even though the way it happened was extremely humiliating.

They had got absolutely plastered the night before his birthday and staggered home through the night, like the drunkards they were.

When he woke up the next morning, he found to his horror that someone was lying next to him. Too blurry for the extremely far-sighted Lanyon to make out the other's features, but who cared!

Someone was lying in _his_ bed, half on top of him and they both were completely naked!

He leapt up and screamed hysterically.

Which of course woke up the other person, who also began to scream.

The voice was a dead give-away for the other's identity.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY BED?!”, Jekyll shrieked.

“THIS IS _MY_ BED, YOU IDIOT! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN _MY_ BED, IN _MY_ HOUSE AND WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED LAST NIGHT?!”, Lanyon shrieked back.

“I HAVE NO IDEA!!! WHY ARE WE BOTH-?”

Jekyll stopped short.

Stared at him.

“Oh my god … Lanyon …”

The auburn-haired man desperately searched for his pince-nez.

When he had finally found it and put it on, he could see the blond clearly. He was hurrying to put his clothes on and looked absolutely horrified.

It hurt.

Feeling dirty and used, Lanyon hid behind his armchair, curled in on himself and wept.

“Hastie?”

He gasped in shock, when the other covered him in his blanket and stroked his long hair.

“Hey now”, Jekyll whispered gently. “Please don't cry. I can't bear to see you hurt.”

The younger man helped him up, handed him his clothes and helped him get dressed.

“Before we decide to never speak of this again, can we talk, please?”, he begged.

“Sounds good”, Lanyon croaked.

So they sat down on the edge of the bed and talked.

The auburn-haired man bared himself for the first time in his life.

And to his surprise, Jekyll wasn't repulsed. No, he even seemed to admire it. After all, his lack of desire could easily be disguised as mere self-control. Which Jekyll struggled with.

To Lanyon's even bigger surprise, the blond admitted to loving him back.

“But why?”, he croaked. “There is nothing appealing about me, we argue all the time, I have those freak-eyes – ow!”

Jekyll had pinched him.

“What did I say about self-deprecation?”, the blond grumbled. “Seriously, stop it already. You're a wonderful man and you better accept it. First off, you look absolutely adorable and I would cuddle you at all times, if I could. Secondly, your eyes are beautiful and unique. Those who think otherwise are just twits. Thirdly, I know that you're not afraid of doing the deed. You're such a brave and passionate man, I'm sure if you ever got in the mood, you would go absolutely-”

“Henry, _no_.”

“Anyway, what I wanted to say is that I'm completely and utterly in love with you and everything that you are. Also, please stop crying.”

But Lanyon couldn't help it. His happiness was just too much to keep it all in.

_I can't believe this is really happening …_

Being the boyfriend of Henry Jekyll was incredibly difficult.

The blond promised over and over, that he'd never touch the auburn-haired doctor, if he wasn't fine with it.

But Lanyon could feel the increasing frustration. The subliminal anger. The waning patience. How hard it was for the other to be a good partner to someone who didn't want to sleep with him.

It scared him.

He had to think of something, before Jekyll did something he'd regret.

He needed to relief the other's frustration and tension.

Lanyon was 29 years old, when he made a grave decision.

_Maybe if I pretend that I want to …_

“Good evening, Henry~”

“Ha-Hastie?!”

Lanyon smirked. “Yes, that is my name, I believe.”

He had to admit, the flustered state of the other _almost_ made it worth it.

The auburn-haired man was draped over Jekyll's desk with his shirt half unbuttoned, looking as seductive as a chubby man like him possibly could. It was humiliating and he desperately prayed that the other would be horny enough to drag him to bed and get it over with.

It seemed to be working: the blond was blushing like no tomorrow and had the ever so inevitable bulge in his pants. He was holding a handkerchief to his nose to contain his nosebleed.

Damn, was Jekyll _that_ easy to arouse?! He had to be even thirstier than Lanyon had thought!

“Hastie!”, the blond rasped, “How am I supposed to stay a gentleman, if you tease me like that?!”

“Bold of you to assume, that I want you to”, Lanyon purred.

He crawled off the table and strolled up to his flustered, aroused partner.

“It's your birthday, Henry dearest. I've been thinking long and hard about what the best present could be. Then I realised: what would be a better present than myself?”

Jekyll swallowed hard and tugged at his stiff collar.

“Allow me”, he whispered and undid the taller man's collar and cravat.

“W-wait!”, Jekyll cried suddenly. “H-Hastie, are you really sure you want this?”

“Yes. I am.”

It was a lie.

But Jekyll was positively glowing with joy.

He wasted no time in pulling his partner to the bedroom.

The older man had expected the younger to go roughly on him, to let steam off and get rid of all his frustration.

Alone, Jekyll was so gentle, caring and reverent, as if Lanyon was the only thing in the world worth living for. And he was good. He certainly knew how to elicit reactions from his body.

But even as he came, even as he was spooned by the blond in the aftermath, he felt empty.

His body had enjoyed the feathery, coaxing touches, but deep down … Lanyon still felt nothing.

Jekyll had looked at him with so much love and happiness, that he had positively loathed himself for this being just an act.

When his lover's even breathing told him that he was sleeping, the auburn-haired man allowed himself to fall apart.

It wasn't fair.

He had done this for Jekyll, it had been his birthday present. He had given himself to the man he loved. And Jekyll had done his best to give him just as much pleasure.

This should have been enjoyable.

He should have felt passion. Desire. Joy. Satisfaction.

Whatever emotions people assigned to that activity!

And instead he was just … _bored_.

Completely numb.

A lone tear ran down his cheek.

_Why do I feel nothing?_

It hadn't stayed at that one time, unsurprisingly.

This was Henry Jekyll after all.

You gave him a finger, he took the whole arm.

Lanyon said nothing about it.

He just gave him what he wanted and pretended to want it too. He would listen to the words of love whispered and moaned into his ear and die on the inside.

Then, when Jekyll was asleep, he would cry silently.

It was so painful.

Why did the blond want him anyway? No matter what he said, Lanyon would never compare to him.

Why did it have to be this way?

Why couldn't he want his lover like everyone else wanted theirs?

_Why do I have to be such a _ freak _?_

Lanyon was 32 years old, when Jekyll found out.

It was one of those times, he would wait until the other fell asleep, then cry until he dozed off too.

Unfortunately, Jekyll _hadn't_ been asleep this time.

The smaller man gasped, when he felt the other's arms wrap themselves tighter around him.

“Please don't cry”, the taller man whispered into his ear from behind, “You know I can't bear to see you hurt.”

He only cried harder.

Jekyll peppered his head, neck and shoulders with kisses and whispered sweet nothings into his ears.

Lanyon wanted nothing more than to turn around and cry into the other's shoulder. But then he would have to face him. Which he couldn't.

“Hastie”, the blond's soft voice spoke up, sounding dead serious. “Why are you doing this to yourself? And most importantly, when were you planing to tell me?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. Really, rainbow-eyes. Did you think you could hide it from me forever?”

“I don't know what you're talking about-”

“Stop playing dumb. Your act doesn't fool me anymore.”

Jekyll's voice sounded angry and disappointed. “Look at you. You can't even face me.”

Lanyon felt the other's fingers play with his auburn hair.

“Please turn around. Look at me. Tell me the truth.”

He did turn around.

But when he saw the hurt and disappointment in the other's eyes, he shattered.

He clung to the taller man, buried his face in his shoulder and screamed.

Everything poured out of him.

The hurt, the frustration, the self-loathing, everything.

At first Jekyll tensed up in surprise, then he tightened his arms around him.

“I can't do this anymore, Henry!”, he sobbed. “I love you, but I can't keep this up!”

“Nor can I”, the other said sadly. “Why did you do this to begin with?”

“I just … wanted to please you. Because … because … you were growing so frustrated … so deprived … I thought, if I gave you what you wanted … and it made you so happy … ”

“It did”, Jekyll admitted. “It was wonderful. It meant the world to me, it really did. And I thought it meant something to you too. Your act was perfect, I didn't even realise that it was one until three months ago. At first I thought that I was just being paranoid. But now that I know I was right … I feel hollow.”

_Betrayed. Used._

Lanyon could hear it in the other's voice.

“I'm sorry … I'm so sorry … I love you, please don't leave me”, he pleaded desperately.

A large hand cupped his chin and forced him to look Jekyll in the eyes.

“I love you too”, the blond whispered tenderly, “Your smile brightens up my day. Your singing is the only sound that can soothe me. Your eyes are so warm and unique and make me feel safe. All the pressure from society suffocates me, but with you I can breathe. You're the only thing that keeps me sane. So how could I ever leave you? In fact, I wonder everyday how I deserve someone as wonderful as you. If you left me, I would lose my reason to live.”

The older man just cried harder.

“Do you remember the promise I made to you, when we were children?”, Jekyll asked suddenly.

Lanyon blinked.

But after a few seconds he caught on and smiled. “You promised you would never hurt me. And that you would never call my eyes 'freaky' like all the others.”

Jekyll smiled back and caressed his cheeks.

“Don't ever forget that, okay? I would never hurt you. You don't have to push yourself to do something you don't want, in order to please me. We'll figure something out.”

Lanyon was 37 years old, when he realised that their relationship was falling apart.

He could feel Jekyll's love slowly fade away.

Jekyll came back from home much later than he himself did, which was unusual.

Lanyon wasn't fooled by the claim that he just had more patients. He saw the guilty look in the blond's eyes and the slightly ruffled appearance. He smelled the cheap perfume on him.

But he said nothing, because he had always known that this would happen sooner or later.

Didn't mean that it didn't hurt though.

Then there was Jekyll's scientific research. Not only was the blond growing obsessed with his work, he was losing every touch to reality. He even forgot their dates, because he always was busy in his lab! Lanyon just swallowed his frustration and pretended to believe it, when the distressed blond apologised and promised, that it would never happen again.

The auburn-haired doctor could feel the other's sanity slip away.

At this point he even had to put sedatives in Jekyll's tea, because he wouldn't sleep otherwise.

“Henry, I would love to let you spend all day hunched over your table engaged in your research”, he remarked sarcastically, “But you have a job to do and money to earn. And in order to properly do your job, you need to sleep, eat and drink regularly. You're a doctor like me, Henry, you know that I'm right.”

“I know, I know”, Jekyll muttered and unwillingly rose from his chair. “I'm coming to bed. Happy?”

Lanyon nodded. “Quite so.”

in the beginning the other still listened to him.

But it became harder and harder to reason with him.

More than often, he found himself sleeping alone, where Jekyll had always been snuggling him. The bed felt too big. And he felt lonely and empty.

Henry Jekyll, the man he loved, was now more distant than he had ever been.

Sometimes he wondered, if it was even worth it all.

_Why am I still here?_

When Lanyon was almost 40 years old, he met a most remarkable person.

He was searching through one of his cabinets, when someone knocked at the frame of the open door.

“Excuse me, are you Dr. Lanyon?”

A girl's voice, mellow and sweet, with a gentle lisp.

“Yes, that's me. How can I help you, Miss?”

A chuckle: “I'm not a Miss, Doctor.”

He whirled around and saw the voice's owner stand in the door, leaning onto a walking cane and grinning in amusement.

She was very small (less than 5ft), had bright yellow hair, a doll-like face with lily white skin and rosy cheeks and lips.

But there was no way she could be a maid.

First off, her frame, despite its size, was that of a mature woman. She had the aura of a middle-aged lady, despite looking young. Her ice blue eyes were piercing and knowing. As if she was looking through him like glass.

Secondly, she was clad in full mourning. Black from head to toe, a widow cap and if that hadn't made it obvious, the golden wedding band on her gloved finger certainly would have.

“I'm Lady Luise Summers, Countess of Cornwall”, the widow introduced herself. “And I'm here, because I'm looking for a new doctor. I heard that you're one of the best in London.”

He blushed at the flattery.

The doctor interviewed the countess about her overall constitution, which apparently was both stable and fragile. She liked to do sports, but also seemed to be in perpetual pain, for a reason she didn't want to name yet.

And she was far older than she looked. 38 years, less than half a year younger than Jekyll. She jokingly added: “By female standards I'm old. Let's see how long I will maintain my youthful appearance, before the demon of old age catches up to me.”

Lanyon laughed.

She also told him that she was a Prussian aristocrat, who had married into English nobility and was mourning both her husband and her father. The profound melancholy in her eyes gave away her grief. And yet, there was something light-hearted about the way the Lady talked. Her entire demeanour was sophisticated, confident and inviting.

Even her German accent was lovable in a way. Maybe it was her voice, because he had heard Germans talk before and it had sounded harsh and aggressive. But not from her.

When she left, Lanyon felt lighter than he had in years.

And he knew that he had just gained a good friend.

“Henry! Guess what happened today! I got another patient! A most remarkable – WHAT IN BLUE BLAZES HAPPENED HERE???”

Jekyll's lab was a mess.

Papers and shards of glass were scattered everywhere, several chairs were flipped over and some cabinets were broken. There also were several empty wine bottles lying around.

And in the middle of it all were Jekyll's butler Poole, trying to clean up the mess and Jekyll himself, bawling his eyes out.

Poole stood up with some effort and bowed.

“Good evening, Dr. Lanyon”, he greeted him and the auburn-haired doctor requited it.

“You can retire”, he told the elderly man, “I'll help him clean up the mess. Good night, Poole.”

The old man threw a look at his master, who nodded affirmatively. With a relieved expression, he left the lab, leaving Lanyon alone with his partner.

“What happened?”, he demanded to know, “Why did you get drunk and wreck your lab like that?”

“Because I'm nothing but a failure and a disappointment!”, Jekyll wailed.

The older man brushed aside some of the shards and knelt down next to him.

He sighed and cupped the crying man's face, forcing him to look him in the eyes.

“Henry … don't think that of yourself. You're not a failure or a disappointment. Look at how many doctorates you have. You're even a Fellow of the Royal Society! You have achieved so much! So what if you want to get drunk and laid from time to time. You're only human and in the middle of your life. Everyone has these cravings.”

“Not you!”, Jekyll snapped, his eyes full of envy. “You never want to get drunk or whore around! Why?! Why do you have to be so bloody gentlemanly and pure and I-”

“Henry …”

“And why do you never say anything?! You know that I'm cheating on you, I know that you know! And you never say a word! Why do you never get angry?”

“What good would that do?”, Lanyon asked sadly, “Would you rather like, if I threw you against a wall and yelled reproaches and curses at you for hours? It wouldn't help anyhow. And I knew better than to expect you to be faithful.”

“But you are!”, Jekyll blubbered, “You don't even look at anyone that way. You want no one! Not even … not even _me_.”

“Hush, love. Here, come up and lay down on the cot. Get some sleep.”

“You're not even denying it!”

“Shhh. Just lay down, sweetheart.”

He coaxed the drunk to the cot, helped him to lay down and began to tidy up the mess.

He swept the shards together, threw the bottles away, gathered the papers and set the chairs back up.

When he was finished and exhausted, he looked to the cot and saw, that Jekyll was still awake.

The blond was lying on his side and still crying.

Lanyon sighed once more, sat down and allowed Jekyll to rest his head in his lap. He sang a lullaby for the other, who snuggled into him and was out like a light, before the song was finished.

When Jekyll was asleep, Lanyon just stayed there, running his fingers through tousled blond hair and being thoroughly unhappy with the entire situation.

He _did_ want him. He just didn't want to _sleep_ with him.

He loved him so much, otherwise he would have left a long time ago.

But now it felt more and more like the other's love was conditional. Like he only clung to him out of desperation, because he couldn't stand being alone. Jekyll wanted and took, wanted and took, but he never gave anything back these days.

_Do you remember, when you really loved me, Henry?_

“You shut the bloody hell up, you ignorant philistine. You know nothing – nothing! You're just a pedant, a hide-bound pedant! You claim to know me, but you know _nothing_ about me or about science at all! And then you have the nerve to call my ideas 'freaky'? Well, I have news for you! The only _freaky_ thing here are your _eyes_!”

Lanyon gasped, his eyes widened and he stared at the other, as he clutched his broken nose.

He didn't know what hurt more, the blow or these cruel words.

Suddenly he was overwhelmed by more emotions than he had felt in a while. Hurt. Anger. Betrayal.

Slowly he stood up.

“My eyes are _freaky_, huh?”

His voice was blank, even though he was on the verge of snapping.

Jekyll seemed to be snapping out of his own rage. His expression became horrified.

“Hastie … I-”

“And on top of that, you break my nose?”

“I … I …”

“You hurt me.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. He would not cry. Not now. Not in front of him.

“You promised me, that you would never hurt me!”

He began to tremble from the hurt and anger.

The blond began to stammer again, but the smaller would have none of it.

“Save it, Dr. Jekyll. Nothing you could say or do will ever make this alright. I'm leaving.”

He turned to leave.

“Hastie, wait – I-I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have said that, please don't go – please! I'm sorry, I-”

That was too much.

The auburn-haired doctor whirled around.

“ARE YOU? ARE YOU, JEKYLL?! BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT YOU SAY EVERY TIME! EVERY! DAMN! TIME! THAT'S IT! I CAN'T TAKE ANY MORE, I'VE HAD ENOUGH!!!”

Jekyll grabbed his left hand. “Love, please-”

“DON'T TOUCH ME!!!”, he shrieked and slapped him so hard, that he staggered.

“And don't call me 'Love'”, he continued coldly, “It's such an empty word coming from you. I'm done with your crap, once and for all. It's over.”

Then he rushed off.

He ran all the way to his own home, locked himself in his examination room and curled up against the door.

His heart was shattered.

Jekyll had broken it, just like he had broken all of his promises.

He curled further in on himself and cried. The tears mingled with the blood from his nose.

It was over.

They had been with each other for fifteen years.

And now they had come to an end.

As he sat there crying, he realised, that he should have ended it much sooner.

Jekyll had never been the one. He had fallen in love with the wrong person and now he paid the price.

_It wasn't worth it … it just wasn't worth it._

Next day, Jekyll came by to see him.

Lanyon told his butler to send him away. He didn't want to see the man who had broken his heart. Maybe he never would want to see him again.

He was 41 years old.

When Lanyon was 43 years old, he found out who Lady Summers really was.

He shouldn't have been too surprised, really.

After all, she always knew what he was thinking or feeling. She seemed to understand him like no other.

Yet, when he made a house call one day and saw the brass sign at her door, he thought it a jest.

Consulting telepath and certified therapist?

Alright, Lanyon knew that Lady Summers wasn't a sham or liar, but this was just preposterous!

Telepathy didn't exist! And since when could women be therapists?

“I see, you noticed the sign at my door”, she noted, as soon as he entered her greenhouse. Apparently she had just seen off a client and was now resting in her rocking chair.

“And now you want to know what in blue blazes this is about?”

It wasn't really a question. Nor was it a guess. But how the hell did she-

“There is nothing like some healthy doubt and scepticism”, she continued, “It's perfectly reasonable to have doubts. However, it does offend me, when someone believes that I'm a sham.”

He blushed, caught red-handed. “I don't think you're a-”

She lifted her hand. “Shush. Allow me to prove to you, that I'm a genuine medium. That I can read your mind. You don't have to believe in the paranormal in general, but you have to believe _me_. Just … _please_ don't flip your wit.”

Then she began to name things about him that only he knew. Things he had never told anyone.

The abuse by his parents.

How during his school years he had tried to become thinner by skipping meals or throwing them up, until Utterson had caught him.

How he suffered, when people looked at his differently coloured eyes and thought they were 'freaky'.

The relationship with his former best friend, then lover, now dearly detested.

The reason why his auburn hair had turned prematurely white.

“Shall I go on?”, she asked, “Don't worry, I never told anyone, never will and … Doctor?”, she added worriedly, when she saw him grow pale.

But before she could say more, he flipped his wit – which she had asked him not to – and fled.

Ridiculous! Simply ridiculous! This couldn't be true! He couldn't believe it! Even though he had seen it with his own eyes, heard it with his own ears!

But what she had said wasn't just female intuition or lucky guessing. She had been completely sure in what she was saying. She had known. That couldn't be explained any other way, but it just couldn't be!

Lanyon groaned and clutched his head.

As soon as he was home, he went to bed. He needed to sleep. Maybe it was all just a dream and when he woke up everything would be fine and normal, like it was supposed to be.

Unfortunately, when he woke up the next morning, he was ill.

He was feverish, lying in bed and had to keep his surgery closed, probably for about a week.

But in the evening, he had an unexpected visitor.

It was about half past seven and Lanyon was sitting in his armchair by the fire, when the butler opened the door to announce a visitor. “I told her that you're not receiving, but she insisted that she should see you”, the man apologised, “And I could hardly refuse an aristocrat.”

He knew immediately who it was.

“Doctor Lanyon”, Lady Summers said upon entering, “I owe you a thousand apologies. I knew that it would shock you, but I didn't expect you to be _this_ affected – no, don't stand up”, she added, when he wanted to rise to greet her properly.

“You're unwell, don't exert yourself.”

She was holding a bouquet of flowers in one and a basket in her other hand.

He blushed. Was that for …?

“Yes, these are for you”, the Prussian confirmed, “As an apology gift and to help you get better. After all, you're my physician. I don't want to have to find a new one, just because I was so tactless as to force a truth upon you, that you weren't ready for.”

Lanyon could only chuckle and took the flowers and basket.

They talked for a while (she made him laugh for a few times). Then the tiny blonde left.

Curious, the doctor inspected the presents.

The basket contained exotic-looking baked goods, fruits, a bottle of wine and a note.

When Lanyon read it, the content made him smile.

Then he looked at the flowers in the bouquet and was moved to tears.

Apple blossoms, an azalea, a chrysanthemum and a purple hyacinth.

_Things will get better, take care of yourself, you're a wonderful friend and I'm sorry._

Lanyon smiled.

Now that was the sweetest apology he had ever got. Suddenly he felt warm and a little fuzzy (and that definitely wasn't the fever), but most of all he felt cared for. Someone was there, who would drop everything just to check on him. And she had only known him for less than four years.

He mate note to get better as quickly as possible, so he could give her a bouquet of his own.

Maybe this strange lady would be able to heal him.

_I don't remember the last time I felt so appreciated._

Over the next eight years his wounds slowly closed and he found himself slowly falling for the little eccentric Lady. There was finally a possibility for him to get closure, thanks to that mind-reading therapist.

He even agreed, when one day in autumn 1885, he received an invitation from Jekyll to a dinner party.

When he arrived, Jekyll treated him like all of his other friends.

It hurt only a little.

Utterson was there too, which was delightful. The now white-haired doctor hadn't seen his friend in a while and it was wonderful to talk to him and the others. Perfect excuse not to talk to the host himself.

What was not delightful however was the glances Utterson threw at Jekyll from time to time.

Lanyon could tell he was the only one who noticed, because he knew the black-haired lawyer better than everyone else here. The other men here just saw his earnest, professional mask.

He also spied Jekyll looking at Utterson that way, when the other wasn't looking.

It made him angry, but he hid it behind his cheerful demeanour.

These two couldn't be lovers, they obviously didn't know of each other's feelings.

The hoary doctor wasn't surprised at all (he had always known just how fond Jekyll was of the lawyer). But when he went home, his blood was boiling.

He clutched the pistol hidden in his coat pocket.

_If he hurts Gabriel like he hurt me, I will fucking kill him!_

Just a few days after the dinner party, Lanyon had a visitor of the unpleasant variety.

He had spent the evening following the insane instructions of a letter Jekyll had sent him and now was waiting for someone to come and pick up the items he had collected.

Really, the things he did for his friends!

At midnight, there was a timid knock on the door.

The doctor opened and saw a small man crouching against the pillars of the portico, hiding in the shadows.

Lanyon assumed his professional mask. “Did Dr. Jekyll send you?”

The other made an affirmative gesture. When he asked him to come in, the stranger hesitated.

But then a policeman approached with a lantern. The other noticed him too, as he hurried to get inside now.

Suspicious.

Lanyon's fingers instinctively brushed over the gun in his pocket, ready to draw it. He practically shooed his strange guest into the brightly lit consulting room.

Now he could see him clearly.

At first sight, the man looked ridiculous. He was tiny (couldn't be taller than Lady Summers) and wearing clothes that were too big for him. They were hanging off his body in an almost pathetic manner.

But he was giving off a dark aura, that made the doctor extremely uncomfortable. Suddenly, he was seized by the strange desire to throw the man back out into the night, but he couldn't do that (yet).

The visitor was very young, apparently a hobbadehoy*.

His face was deathly pale and framed by long, black-brown hair (café noir brown, if Lanyon's knowledge of colours didn't fail him, and it never did). There was something oddly androgynous about his facial features.

His eyes were sunken-in, big and of a jarring bilious green. They had a haunted, feral look, that made Lanyon think of wanted criminals.

And he was shaking with fearful excitement.

“Do you have it? Do you have it?!”, he cried (with a high-pitched, raspy voice) and gripped his arm, with the obvious intention to shake him. The very touch was blood-curdling and made the hoary doctor flinch.

Pointing out that the young man hadn't even introduced himself yet, he asked him to sit down.

The brunette did so.

“I beg your pardon, Dr. Lanyon”, he apologised, politely enough. “You're absolutely right. I was so impatient, that I forgot my manners. I came here at the instance of your colleague, Dr. Henry Jekyll, on a piece of business of some moment, and I understood …”

The boy's voice faltered. He put his hand to his throat and Lanyon could tell that he was on the verge of hysteria.

“I understood … a drawer …”

Pitiful.

“There it it”, he told him, motioning to the drawer lying on the floor beneath a sheet.

To his horror, the young man jumped up, but then he paused abruptly.

Clutched his heart.

Clenched his jaws.

His facial expression turned so ghastly, that Lanyon feared for both his life and his sanity.

But when he told him to calm down, he just received a terrible grimace of a smile in return.

Then the young brunette tore the sheet away, skimmed over the content of the drawer and sobbed in relief. Having finally calmed down a bit, he asked for a graduated flask. Having received it, the young stranger began to mix the ingredients together.

Lanyon watched with scientific fascination, as the mixture in the flask changed colours.

The brunette smiled in what looked like morbid relief, then he turned back to him. He gave him two options: he could allow this stranger, who had just walked into his house and mixed together a dubious liquid, leave without an explanation, or he could become witness to something completely mind-blowing and terrifying.

Of course, being the fool he was, Lanyon chose the latter.

What he saw next was the most horrifying metamorphosis possible.

“Oh my God … oh my God!”

It was the only words he could say, when he beheld the figure crouching against his desk, feeling around like a blind man and looking, as if he had risen from the dead.

The young man was gone and in his place was now none other than …

“Jekyll!”

The blond looked up. Blinked. Then his view seemed to clear and he stretched out a hand.

But the hoary doctor just shied away further until his back hit the wall.

“Don't – don't come any closer! Explain! What the hell did I just witness?!”

What he heard in the next hour appalled him beyond words.

As soon as Jekyll was finished with his explanation, Lanyon gave him a half-mourning and then kicked him out, shrieking at him to never show his face here again.

After writing a letter to Utterson, recording what had just occurred, he threw his head back and laughed hysterically.

His best friend, the man he had once loved … had almost murdered someone! Had hurt God knew how many people! Played God, just so he could pursue his own base desires!

_I always knew that Jekyll would end up destroying himself … but I never stopped to think that I would be destroyed too!_

The shock wrecked him.

His health deteriorated so rabidly that, when Utterson visited him a few days later, he already knew that he was going to die soon.

Later, he became confined to his bed.

Fever dreams and hellish visions tightened their grip on him.

He lost track of time and his grip on reality.

At some point, he had an especially odd dream.

His bed was standing in a black void, but for some reason it wasn't scary.

When he wondered where he was, someone appeared at his bedside out of nowhere.

A tall, thin woman (or at least it looked like one) with deathly white skin and long, raven hair that seemed to move on its own. She was clad in a long cloak that was a black as the void around them. At her feet, it seemed to turned into tendrils that moved, as if they had a life of their own and melted into the darkness of the void.

He couldn't see her eyes, they were overshadowed.

There was no questioning who that was.

“You're Death”, he whispered.

She nodded.

“Are you here to get me?”

His eyes widened, when She shook Her head.

“_**No”**_, she said. _**“It's not your time yet.”**_

Her voice was oddly gentle and kind. Almost motherly.

She wasn't a frightening Grim Reaper, like he had imagined. She was an Angel of Death.

“_**I have many names”**_, Death remarked smiling. _**“Azrael, Angel of Death, Grim Reaper, Thanatos, the Unnamable … too many to list.”**_

“You're not how I imagined you”, he admitted.

Her smile widened. _**“I know. I hear that a lot.”**_

He looked up in confusion. “But if you're not here to get me … why _are_ you here? How is it not my time? I'm beyond salvation-”

She put a finger on his mouth to silence him.

“_**You're not”**_, She informed him. _**“Your soulmate is determined to ensure that you won't become mine prematurely. Everything dies. But your time to die isn't there. Not yet. I'm here to tell you, that it's not too late. Fate wasn't kind to you until now. But from now on she will be. You have a chance to start anew. Take this chance. Life is a fleeting gift. Keep it for as long as you can.”**_

She stepped back and retreated into the darkness. _**“Farewell, Hastie Lanyon. We will meet again, when the time comes for you to look me in the eyes. But for now: recover and live.”**_

Then She was gone.

When he woke up, he found himself in his bedroom. And his fever was gone.

Everything was blurry, so he felt for his pince-nez. When he found it and put it on, he realised that someone was sitting next to his bed, sleeping in a chair. A small widow with bright yellow hair.

In the haze of his sickness, she had the likeness of a radiant angel.

He smiled.

He fell into a healing slumber.

Maybe _she_ was that special someone Death had meant.

Lady Summers came to visit him every day.

Lanyon didn't quite understand, why a lady of her class would put so much effort into nursing a half-dead man back to health.

But she did and every time she came, she had a story to cheer him up. Sometimes, albeit not often, she talked about herself and told him little things.

But on Friday, he learned something, that shocked him again.

This time however, it was a good shock.

No. It was the best shock he'd ever had in his life.

“I have never felt physical attraction”, she told him. “Not in my youth and definitely not now that I'm old. And I've met people, who were the same. So many don't even understand the concept of that. Personally, I don't see the appeal in having carnal knowledge with someone. I've slept with people, but the only one who didn't make my skin crawl was my husband. It was a scientific experiment to explore myself and the results greatly disappointed me.”

Lanyon had already known, that she'd had affairs before her marriage, but he had never thought that it had been nothing but an experiment to her!

She went on: “For most people, the physical part is crucial in a romantic relationship, but for me it's really not – Dr. Lanyon? What's the matter?! Are you alright?! Say something!”

He was staring at her and big tears were threatening to fall from his eyes.

“You're like me”, he whispered, then grabbed her gloved hand.

“You're like me! Just like me!”, he repeated, then began to cry for real.

He wasn't alone in the world! There were people like him! He wasn't a freak of nature!

For a moment she looked confused.

Then she understood and smiled.

“Yes … I suppose I am.”

Lady Summers sat down on the edge of his bed and allowed him to cry into her shoulder.

Lanyon couldn't remember the last time he had cried out of joy.

For so long, he'd had nothing.

Then suddenly _this_ magical moment had appeared.

Now he had everything.

He was complete.

_She really is the one! My soulmate!_


End file.
